


New Man

by honeydewed



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, I want more of this ship so I have to be the change I want to be in this world, On one hand I hate the trope of, Ophilia Clement x Therion - Freeform, Ophilia x Therion - Freeform, Teen up for cursing?, because it isn't true but I do believe the people we surround ourselves with can make us, the right woman can fix a man, want to behave like better people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 19:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15468819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeydewed/pseuds/honeydewed
Summary: Therion's sick. Ophilia takes care of him.





	New Man

**Author's Note:**

> You don't need to have read my other fic to understand this one. Again I don't own Octopath Traveler. I made up her "song" there's no real rhythm to it that I can give so I can't have you sing along and I hope it's not bad haha. Enjoy!

The ember from Aelfric's Flame burns bright in Ophilia's lanthorn. The light is a sacred thing unlike an ordinary torch meant to be toted about and used it's been bestowed upon mankind by the benevolent god and should be treated with reverence. Sister Ophilia's grip on the handle is tight and she holds it with the same ferocity a snow leopard clings to its prey. In the darkness it's their only source of light, they ran out of torches and she's obliged to use the light for a selfish purpose. Surely, Aelfric won't be cross with her for lighting her path so she can see. As much faith as Ophilia holds in the god she too knows she's obliged to trust in herself as well. Faith isn't simply for the gods but also for people and she must believe in herself and abilities. The pale green glass that houses the light shines bright like an emerald brought to the sun. Her platinum blonde hair almost looks green with the discoloration and she stands statuesque in the night like a lighthouse. Therion dislikes attention. Being noticed or having attention brought to his person makes his job more difficult. The more people take heed of him or can recognize him, the more difficult his job becomes. She stands to be noticed, to shine light unto those who seek the brightness, and illuminate the path of those who've lost their way.

Thankfully for him, following behind her makes him look like a nondescript vagabond dutifully being shepherded by the cleric. People take notice of her and it becomes easier for him to vanish into thin air. Therion's chest feels tight. His entire body feels like it's a flame. A gentle wheeze surfaces when he looks at her and he wants to slap himself. It can't be because of Sister Ophilia can it? He shakes his head and listens to her jubilation as she speaks. Ophilia lowers the lanthorn to her hip and fastens it, "Oh thank the Flame!" The light hides and winks beneath her cloak like a shy child and she stares at the sign. Crossing her hands atop one another she presses them atop her chest to and breathes in relief. "Mister Therion," she calls for him. "Town is not that far away. If we carry on in this direction surely we'll arrive before it becomes much later."

Therion doesn't dislike traveling at night. As a thief the nighttime is his best partner and he can hide from the eyes of men and guards. There's a higher chance of encountering monsters but the chance of running into a man dies down like the light dipping out of the sky. The only people out in this hour are other thieves. Highwaymen and brigands all start their work once the sun sets to carry on their dark deeds, his jaw clenches, if Sister Ophilia were by herself he's certain that by now some depraved soul would have slit her throat for the meager church allowance she pocketed and hardtack. As a thief Therion has little honor but even he has a line he draws. Another man's life isn't worth his quarry. It could be sentiment that keeps him from slicing throats or perhaps even a small glimmer of a conscience that once belonged to a decent person but the idea of someone burying a dagger into her back or opening up her pretty throat to stain her pretty white dress makes his blood boil. He isn't a babysitter and he doesn't look after other people, the hand housing his fool's bangle lifts to hide his face further in his scarf. Why does he even care? Aelfric and his light had done nothing for him. Everything he is now, every problem he's ever had, every success, have been because of his own two hands and his own doing. There's no master plan behind it because the gods are fickle and uncaring. Damn, he actually does feel warm. Swallowing hard he realizes it's difficult to breathe. Does he need to lower his scarf? He rarely does but it's nighttime maybe he should. "Mister Therion?"

Nobody cares. "Mister Therion?"

Therion's eyes which are green as the glass that house the Flame close.

"Mister Therion?"

Sister Ophilia clings tightly to her staff. Standing a few inches away from him he's greeted by her lovely face when he opens up his eyes. Worry coats her normally benign face and she nervously draws her eyebrows towards one another.

He cares even though he's unsure why. "What is it?" he asks attempting to find a growl to accompany the question. Therion's been told he speaks like a wild animal and if that's so he'll keep doing it. Animals puff themselves up and make themselves bigger to ward other predators off, he can do the same damn thing. Sister Ophilia may not look like a threat but everyone is. Therion's hands vanish beneath his poncho and he crosses them. Everyone can be a threat even Ophilia. Beneath his scarf he makes a flat line with his lips and leans forward to get in her personal space so she'll back down. As he leans forward a sudden sweep of dizziness overtakes him. Shit, that's not good.

Startled by the action Ophilia does as he believes and takes a step or two away from him clinging to her staff. "I was speaking to you Mister Therion yet you remained here, I was worried perhaps you saw something or had fallen asleep?" the second half of her statement posed as an innocent question moves her voice in a cadence. When she speaks it sounds like it's fit for the wide halls and pews. "Are you quite alright?"

He clears his throat sharply. Why does she care? Does she think if she's sweet enough he'll throw away his crime riddled life and find himself born anew from the ashes? Does she believe he can save a wretched soul like him and baptize him with her Flame? Could it be Sister Ophilia believes if she's alluring enough and innocently continues to beckon him that he'll be someone worth saving? There's no hymn in the world that could resound in his ears to make him re-think his life. There's no words or god that can change him. What could possibly make her stronger than all that?

"I'm fine," he struggles to find the bite to his voice. He abhors being questioned, everybody thinks they know him better than he knows himself, and he can't stand being treated with kindness. It's insulting, he knows nobody cares about him. Why should they? He's a rotten parasite that leeches off the work of better men and breaks his bread and drinks his wine because his craft enables him to dupe those who still trust the world. Sister Ophilia's worry filled face feels like a dagger in his heart. Her soft brown eyes are weary from wandering and he can see that the beginning of bags have made them puffy. Therion has to take her to an inn quickly as he can't stand looking into those eyes. His face feels warm and his chest feels tightens further. He shakes his head and begins to saunter forward bumping her shoulder with his own as he announces, "We won't get anywhere if you keep standing there gawking."

"Pray pardon me for worrying!" Sister Ophilia's no better at insulting people as he is at complimenting them. Her shoulders lift and she breathes in sharply with a huff, "Perhaps next time I shall leave you behind and go to town on my own. There are others who would be better traveling companions and would enjoy speaking instead of quiet reflections as they walked town to town. They would make much better company and would be grateful to have befriended me." Sister Ophilia's dark boots sink into the dirty path and she tightens her grip on the staff.

"Then maybe," he doesn't finish the thought. Therion's knees buckle and he tries not to stumble.

"Mister Therion?"

His stomach lurches and he takes a knee diving it into the ground before he realizes she looks a little blurry. He hadn't felt right all day but now it's catching up to him. Damn it. Sister Ophilia rushes towards him as she kneels by his side.

"Mister Therion!"

* * *

Ophilia sits by the bedside of the thief. She's stripped the poncho and scarf from his body as well as taken off his boots. Carrying him into the inn had been difficult but she made it and the innkeeper was kind enough to take her heavy burden off her back and into his only open room. Once alone she got to work and began to care for him. Wringing out the cloth dampened by fresh water she brushes back his bangs. His face isn't as dirty as she once believed it would be. Her gloved hand lifts the white locks off his face and she places it atop his forehead. When she fell ill Lianna sits by her side until she feels better. Smiling at the thought of her sister she hums recalling a song Lianna likes to sing to her when she's ill.

 _"One prayer for your mother one prayer for your father,_  
_One prayer's for your sister too._  
_O sweet child all the prayers in the world cannot be made by you."_

The little hymn disturbs him from time to time. He can hear her voice throughout the night. Singing different lyrics as she keeps quiet and close to his side. Therion's never fainted from having a cold before. He'd been knocked out on two occasions, he lost his breath, and once felt a pain so bad it made his vision go white, but he'd never swooned before! Until today of course.

In the morning when he awoke a scratchiness taunted the back of his throat and made him clear it time and time again from filling up with phlegm. A headache came so to alleviate it he bit into an apple and kept quiet. His body felt slowed so he kept a listless pace behind the cleric. Therion's eyes feel too heavy to open but he struggles to do it vainly. His body feels heavy like a weight's crushing him. Therion's nose whistles as he breathes and it's easier to do so without his scarf but his face feels naked without it. He can feel the weight of Ophilia's small hand atop his forehead intermingled with the cool cloth. He can't remember the last time anybody had sang to him when he was ill. Had that ever happened at all? 

 _"All the hymns the world cannot be sung_  
_All the bells by your hand cannot be rung._  
_You're just one person so that's why you must hear_  
_All the prayers from those who are dear."_

Her voice is nice. 

Therion's green eyes open to see her haloed in light. She's set the lanthorn on the night table and seated parallel to him. She still looks tired. He recognizes the light from her is from an opened window. The sun illuminates the fine white clothes she wears and he's befuddled to see her without her cloak on. Ophilia's pulled her hair into a ponytail and set her gloves aside. Her skin's as pale and soft looking as he imagined and he finds himself unable to look away from the lighthouse he's decided to travel with. 

 _"One prayer from your mother, one prayer from your father,_  
_One prayer's from your sister too_  
_O sweet child so many care that's why they all pray for you."_

Admittedly, her song leaves much to be desired. He's heard better songs in taverns but it sounded nice. Therion's sure a good girl like her only knows church songs. He sniffs and is rewarded by coughing. 

"Mister Therion?" He knows he must be delirious because his heart races when she calls him by name. "You're awake," she looks so tired. Her eyes close in relief and she leans back in her chair. "Thank the Flame, I was so worried," her eyes look glassy and she takes his hand closest to her. They feel soft beyond reason but wet from constantly dipping the cloth into the bowl of water by her side. She kneels beside him and presses her forehead against his wrapped knuckles, "Forgive me Mister Therion. I began to say some horrible things to you but you were feeling ill the entire time and I." Her shoulders tremble as she brings her eyes back to him. Unfallen tears litter her eyes and she continues, "I was afraid I wouldn't be able to apologize. I acted in an unforgivable way and allowed myself to say such cruel things to you and I," she continues to kneel beside him.

Damn.

"Get up Ophilia, I'm not on my death bed," he coughs into his other hand and looks away from her. "'Swounds. You're. Going to get dirty down there." He feels worse today but the second day of a cold is always the worst. If he lies low today he'll be right as rain tomorrow. 

"Nay I musn't, not until I've atoned for my brash and rude behavior."

If it means she'll continue to hold his hand like that he'll never forgive her. 

"If you give me an apple I'll forgive you."

His hand feels cold once she leaves it. Wiping the tears from her eyes she nods at him, "D-deal." When she smiles with the morning sun as her backdrop he almost feels like a new man. 


End file.
